


Your True Worth

by Voidbeans



Series: Adventures of a Dumbass Necromancer [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Don't Judge Me, Fantasy Racism, Graphic Description, Insults, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Violence, Racist Language, Slavery, Threats of Violence, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires, look i'm weak i can't punch nazis irl so this is how i cope, racists getting what they deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidbeans/pseuds/Voidbeans
Summary: Vares Indoril never thought he'd be jailed for necromancy. Sure, he DID raise his grand uncle from the dead, but at the very least they could have given him his own cell. Now he was sharing one with a REAL criminal. And an Argonian at that.Not that he'll make it in there for long.I know I already have tags as warnings but just in case. This shit gets REALLY uncomfortably graphic, so be warned.Veeskh-Ei belongs to a friend and is not my own character.
Relationships: Male Argonian OC/Male Dunmer OC, Vares Indoril/Veeskh-Ei
Series: Adventures of a Dumbass Necromancer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198406
Kudos: 2





	Your True Worth

Vares had not been called many things in his life outside of his very name. The worst he'd heard was ”grayskin”, by a rather upset Nord back in his healer training days, for refusing to treat the said Nord's Argonian companion. It wasn't him being inconsiderate or rude. There was simply no saving a lizard that was already dead, no matter how much in denial the Nord lady had been.

Quite frankly, in his opinion, the lady should have been relieved. Maybe now she could move on from her obsession with a beast race to something more fulfilling.

Yet there she'd remained, behind the door to Vares' then residence, flinging insults and pleads both in turn until Vares' mentor had heard the commotion and went out to handle it.

He'd never thought he'd see someone cry over the corpse of an Argonian.

As he struggled against the rough grip of the guards holding his wrists back, Vares felt a burn unlike any other. The enraged insults of, not an outlander, but his own family, swirled in his head in an inferno. Did he feel guilt? Shame?

No.

All he could feel was immense frustration and anger.

His family was so eager to push him to his limits with his training, as long as it suited their world view and ideals. Yet as soon as Vares found something of his own, worked even further than what he'd been taught, to create something even more powerful...

He was shunned.

Chased away.

And now to be locked up.

”Can you not hold me a little more gently?!” Vares groaned, feeling his wrists twist uncomfortably. ”I'm an Indoril! I should not have to tolerate this kind of disrespect!”

One of the guards rolled his eyes. They were hardly through the town yet and the imprisoning was already gaining much more attention than was hoped for. People were gathering to watch. Getting in the way.

And Vares was having none of it.

”I'll walk on my own, n'wahs! This is humiliating!”

”You should have thought of that before practicing necromancy, filth”, the eldest of the guard growled. He'd been listening to this snotty Indoril brat whine the entire way from the Chateau down to the city and had just about had enough of it. He briefly contemplated gagging Vares but, with a lack of material fitting for the role and a respect for the larger House, let it go. He did, however, twist the man's arm a bit further to signal for him to shut up, gaining a hiss in response.

”I'll have you beheaded for this!”

”I'm sure you will.”

The crowd was filled with whispers, both accusing and surprised.

”...isn't that the young man caring for old man Talren?”

”He always struck me as a weird one...”

”But he was so kind!”

”Did you ever even see him around the Argonians? Man's as cruel and cold as can be.”

”Did they just say necromancy?! Is old man Talren-?”

”He's dead.”

The words came out as a curse spat at the crowd, silencing a few of the onlookers. Vares' dark crimson eyes glared at the group of Dunmer watching him. All of them filthy commoners who couldn't possibly understand his vision, his grand research. A small part of his gut was twisting at the knowledge of being dragged in chains in public like this, knowing he'd never be able regain his status here if he ever were to be freed.

But that couldn't possibly be it, could it? Surely his family would understand, with some time. Surely they'd take him back in.

His roaring headache and swollen, bruised lip begged to differ.

This was all Talren's fault. He was Vares' grand uncle. Or, well, used to be. An old Dunmer man riddled with an unknown disease he had no longer wished to be cured from.

”I've seen enough of this world”, Talren had said. ”I hope you all will come to accept my peaceful passing.”

Needless to say, with how well loved Talren was in the family, the wish for death had been met with resistance. As soon as his family members had started asking around for one of the family healers to take the duty of caring for him, Vares had happily obliged. He'd known all too well exactly how gullible and naïve the old man had grown in his senility.

_Just show him enough compassion and kindness and he'll recognize my virtue and prize me with the riches I need to further my research._

That had been his plan.

If only the old man hadn't been such a stick in the mud.

If only Vares hadn't rushed the ritual.

The cell door opened with a loud, metallic creak. Finally, Vares felt the grip on his wrists let go. He was just about to sigh in relief when he was roughly pushed inside, onto the cold stone floor. Instantly shooting a glare at the guards, Vares hissed.

”Hey! Show some respect!”

The door slammed closed, separating the Indoril from his capturers. The eldest of the guard remained still for a moment as the rest left, staring right into the eyes of the now enraged brat in the cell.

”Once I'm out of here, I'll make you suffer for your treatment of me!”

The guard merely scoffed at the insult and spat at Vares' feet.

”You'll be lucky if you live to see next week.”

Rendered speechless by the sheer boldness of the action, Vares couldn't help but stare as the old man walked out of the prison corridor, up the steps to the surface.

Taking a few deep steadying breaths to calm his rage, Vares slowly reached out his hands to grasp the cold metal bars. His fingers slid across the material experimentally for a couple seconds until he pulled away with an amused huff.

No way this lousy prison could hold him in.

A familiar gesture, a snap of his fingers to light a fire between them.

And nothing happened.

”Oh for crying out-!”

He gave the spell a few more attempts, even going as far as to try and cast a fireball at the metal bars, but to no avail. He pressed his face against his palms and pushed his hands past his forehead, to his hair.

Of course they had a magical barrier.

He dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor and groaned, cursing under his breath and clutching at his own hair. Tugging and pulling.

That's when he first felt it.

Vares had never been a very sociable sort. To him, friendship sounded like a chore. Why would he waste his precious time listening to some peasant talk to him about their worries when he could be doing world-changing research? That's what he thought, at least.

The truth behind why he'd turned out such a recluse was a bit less dramatic, of course – he'd simply never quite had the room to develop any relationships outside his own family. The closest he'd ever gotten to someone was most likely his mentor cousin and even that relationship was very strictly professional, with little to no friendly banter in between lessons.

This lack of interaction outside his kin had left Vares a bit... awkward, to say the least. He'd have a hard time initiating conversation with anyone outside of the family aside from vendors. And if anyone took the time to address Vares for matters not related to business, Talren or his family in general, they'd be met with a cold demeanor.

It wasn't really rudeness as much as it was complete and utter panic manifesting as glares and low-key insults.

It was this social anxiety that made the feeling he experienced in the cell very distinctly recognizable. It was the same sort of unnerve he'd often feel in the city, when townsfolk would stare at him from a distance. The shade cast by the clouds before the storm of whispers.

Except this time there were no whispers. Not even a breath.

Just a pair of bloodshot eyes glowing in the darkest corner of the cell, barely in Vares' line of vision.

Refusing to admit the fear trickling down his neck, Vares swallowed a few times. Nothing to worry about. No doubt it was just some criminal low-life thrown in the cell for petty crimes. Maybe a pickpocket.

And he wasn't going to show fear to some lowly pickpocket.

”Did your parents not teach you that it's rude to stare?” he whined. He could see the eyes move slightly from the corner of his own, but didn't dare make direct contact with them. Something unnerving about them.

”I hardly care about what you consider appropriate, ojel.”

The voice was dry, yet laced with venom. The sheer amount of disgust in the way the last word was spat out was enough to make the identity of the stranger crystal clear to Vares.

Those mongrels had thrown him into the same cell with an Argonian.

Him. An Indoril. With an Argonian.

Letting out a frustrated hiss, the Dunmer gripped tightly onto the metal bars of the door and shook it, the rattle echoing throughout the dungeon.

”Do you idiots even know what you're doing?! You can't leave me alone with this- this animal! I'm an honorable member of House Indoril!”

Only the echo from walls, along with a cackle from further down the corridor responded to him.

”You're one of us now, great house boy!” sounded an old, hoarse voice from the distance, followed by some more laughter. Vares felt rage rise to his cheeks, flushing his face.

”Shut up! We're nothing alike! I'll be out of here in no time and once I'm- I'll have your damned decapitated corpse thrown for slaughterfish!”

His threats only fed the laughter. Vares' grip on the bars tightened even more and he opened his mouth to throw out another onslaught of threats, yet he was quickly cut off.

”Do me a favor and shut the fuck up, dryskin. I'm not in the mood for pompous Dunmer crap.”

The voice was no longer in the corner of the cell. Vares felt a chill run down his spine, yet all it did was spark his annoyance. He shot a furious glare over his shoulder at the figure now looming behind him, the pale scales having an eerie, ghostly shade to them in the light coming from the hallway. The stranger's features were sharp, edged. Three rows of ebony spines ran up his face starting from the one spine atop his nostrils, assumably ending near the back of his head. The bloodshot eyes that had never left Vares' skin this entire time were pale, the pupils sharp and beastly.

Needless to say, Vares, in his irritated state, ignored the warning of his threatening proximity.

”You don't get to bark orders at me, slave! How about you shut your disgusting lizard-”

The resounding loud clang was all Vares could hear for a few seconds before it was replaced with the angry, deafening buzz of pain inside his head. The world swayed nauseatingly in his eyes, so he closed them briefly, letting out a pained groan. His hands instinctively reached for the spot on his temple that throbbed from the hit, holding it momentarily as if to pray it would help stabilize himself enough to understand what had happened.

Amidst the buzzing fog of his brain, he could vaguely hear a scoff and the faint scuffle of movement.

Without as much as a thought, he swung his elbow towards that very sound as hard as he could.

And it hit something.

Something that was not at all happy about being hit.

Now, Vares had never been an athletic sort. He'd always thought physical labor to be beneath him and swords to be something for those with no brain to figure out other solutions. Just about the only experience he had in terms of combat was trying to defend himself from an older relative when he was but a kid. Though he hadn't been picked on that often, seeing how most of the time at least one of his older cousins would be around to protect him, like the pampered child he was, that one time in specific had stuck to his mind.

It had been one of the rare times no one was around to defend him. A day after a few days of heavy rain. He'd been outside, sitting on a stone fence, watching the market place while waiting for his father to finish his business in the temple. Though he couldn't recall the face of the relative that pushed him into the mud, what he did remember was fighting back and managing to pull said relative into the mud with him.

Honestly, how hard could a fistfight possibly be if two children could pull it off?

What harm could a skinny, dehydrated Argonian do?

The answer to that question came sooner than Vares would have cared to experience. His vision had only just properly returned before his breath was robbed from him with a sharp punch to the gut, leaving him gasping for breath. The Argonian didn't bother holding him upright for long, instead letting him fold in two on his knees, holding his stomach. Vares was not given respite, however, and soon enough he felt fingers with uncomfortably long nails that felt more akin to claws dig into his hair, forcing his head up. By now his eyes had welled up with tears, which he desperately tried to shake off before being forced to meet the Argonian's freezing stare. The buzz of pain grew all the more loud in his head by the second, yet he could still hear the words hissed out at him.

”...nalpa-ojel.”

Though he didn't understand the words, he could feel their meaning. The bitter toxic fume of them filled his nostrils as he struggled to take a deep, steadying breath. Turning his head away with the little strength he had, Vares gritted his teeth and swung his elbow once more, this time aiming directly at the Argonian's chest.

He never felt the impact.

Instead the pain that followed was greater than anything he'd experienced in his entire life so far.

It burned.

It stung,

For the few seconds he was frozen in absolute terror, he could feel his own blood splatter against his face in droplets that felt searing against what was now covered in cold sweat. For that short, fleeting moment, Vares hesitated to turn towards the Argonian, but couldn't resist.

Was...

Was that skin?

Hanging from his mouth?

The scream erupted from his mouth before he could fully decipher what was happening. Loud, shrill. Yet he couldn't hear it himself. His entire world was now just that loud, high pitched buzz of pain that seared into his mind and made thinking near impossible.

The Argonian merely glared at him. The rage was still present in those pale orbs, but the way they flicked towards him the second Vares let out a scream was something more... primal. What looked like a chunk of meat in his mouth was quickly spat out onto the floor and the attention resumed on Vares' arm. The Dunmer could feel the sharp teeth sink in deeper now, with that bit of flesh out of the way. Gnawing at the muscles of his forearm.

He could swear he could almost feel them scrape against his bones.

”What in Oblivion is this screa-?! HEY! WE NEED BACKUP!”

The words of the guard sounded distant, barely audible to the now stunned Dunmer sobbing and whimpering. Every attempt to tug his hand away from the monster drinking from him only brought another jolt of pain, another shriek. By the time the guards shoved their way into the cell and Vares could feel the fangs forcibly pulled away from his arm, his world was a shock-ridden mess. He stumbled a little, leaning his back against the stone wall. A dry, joyless laugh erupted from his mouth, soon muffled by a gag as he struggled to swallow back the bile rising to his throat.

His arm didn't even respond to his attempts at raising it properly anymore. The pain grew into a numb throb as the adrenaline rushed through his entire body and his blurry vision first focused on the skin ripped open.

He'd had quite enough experience as a healer to know the weight of this injury.

He'd be lucky if he could ever work his arm the same.

The scar could only ever look absolutely hideous.

Of course it had to be his right arm, too.

The buzzing. All that buzzing. He could feel one of the guards grab his shoulders, see the vague shadowy silhouette of them hover over his skinny, pathetically trembling frame. Faintly mumbled words that he couldn't decipher, nor did he care to.

For he was seeking out something else.

Though the world was a blur now, Vares could see one thing crystal clear.

Amidst the mess of blurry, fast moving figures, he saw the blood-stained pale scales shine like a beacon. The sharp features fixed to an expression of animalistic fury, the blood-stained mouth curled to a snarl, a hiss.

That fury seeped into Vares' very bones and consumed him.

In an act of strength he never knew he had, Vares pushed off the guard in front of him, charged his way past the blur of people towards the pale-scaled Argonian. Swimming through the current of guards, of arms trying to grab him and hold him back, he let out a yell. A growl of sheer and utter rage that could only ever sound threatening to a baby skeever. Not that he could hear the pathetic tone of it over the buzz that had deafened him to all else. Punches, shoves, kicks. Nothing felt like more than a nudge to him in that moment.

Until there was another burst of blood that splattered across the Dunmer's face.

It was only a momentary stun, freezing him for a few seconds as his mouth curled to a twisted smirk of victory.

Surely he'd hit something.

Surely he'd hurt that bastard.

The pale visage was swimming against the current towards him.

He reached for it.

Something stopped him, but only for what felt like a second.

The Argonian moved past him. Fast. Unharmed.

Glowing with health he'd stolen from Vares.

And all he could do was follow.

Ash. The scent of smoke and sulphur. It wasn't until Vares finally found himself unable to move that he realized he was outside, gasping for air on muddy ground. He didn't remember falling over.

Where was-?

A rough kick to his collar bone shook the remains of the buzz from his mind. Suddenly everything was painfully loud. His own breathing, the sound of his racing heart, the yelling of the guards in a distance. Vares coughed and gagged miserably, spitting out fluid pooling in his mouth.

”Do you crave death that badly, grayskin?”

If he hadn't already been immobile from pure exhaustion, the venom from those words alone could have frozen all the blood in his veins. Trembling slightly, still gasping for breath, Vares lifted his chin from the mud to look up at the pale Argonian.

Only to feel the sole of that very Argonian's boot press his face right back to the mud. The pressure applied on the side of his face wasn't quite crushing, but enough to be a clear threat.

”If you're that desperate, I'll take great pleasure in crushing your skull right here.”

The weight of the situation ignited the wick of fear that had been lingering at the back of Vares' mind, pushed away. What started as a small fleck of flame soon loomed over Vares like an enraged netch bull. He tasted blood between his shivering breaths. A slight twist of his body as an attempt to rouse himself proved to be nothing but torture, as it awakened the pain of a wound he hadn't noticed he had. Red eyes hurriedly shot to glance down on his body.

His abdomen was covered in blood.

He was bleeding not only from his arm, but his lower stomach.

He was in the outskirts of a town that wanted him dead for necromancy.

With an Argonian vampire who he didn't have the strength to fight.

He was going to bleed out on some gods' forsaken back alley.

Unloved.

Remembered only as a criminal.

Beaten by what he considered to be a lower life form to himself.

Disgraced, abandoned, his body left to rot instead of being allowed amongst the remains of his ancestors.

”...please, d... don't.”

His treacherous mouth spoke with no permission from him. Yet he couldn't stop it. His whole body was shaking with the sheer effort of forming words, rebelling against his proud mind that was screaming at him not to speak.

The pressure against the side of his face grew stronger. Vares could feel the little pebbles in the mud press against his skin painfully.

”Give me one good reason not to.”

”I'll... I'll do anything. I...”

Ah.

So this is how the Nord woman back then must have felt.

So utterly, immensely, completely... humiliating.

Tears burned the corner of his eyes now, so he squeezed them shut. He swallowed down blood gathering in his mouth again, gagging slightly from the metallic taste.

”...I don't want to die.”

The silence was heavy with dread. For a lingering moment, Vares thought he must have passed out already. He was almost holding his breath in fear, waiting to feel that one last kick to his head, the wetness of the insides of his skull splattering across the soil.

But the foot was gone now.

His hair was being gathered to the top of his head, a touch that felt almost comforting before it turned into a rough tug at his scalp. Vares winced at the pain, though only mildly. Too preoccupied with how the tug pulled his body into a position not friendly to the wound on his side.

There was a sigh, a heavy one. Far too close to Vares' liking. His eyes shot open and immediately met the now familiar, pale eyes peering right at him.

The Argonian's mouth curled, revealing a long row of sharp teeth as he spoke, that twisted grin stealing a single beat from Vares' heart away out of sheer terror.

”...you're in luck”, came the hiss of his words. The fingers of the Argonian's free hand traced down to Vares' neck and he whimpered, attempting to pull his head away but only succeeding in revealing his throat more. With surprising gentleness, the scaled hand traced a finger across the smooth, gray skin, stopping threateningly close to where Vares' pulse was currently racing nervously.

”I could use a piece of cattle.”


End file.
